Freshman Orientation
by William Easley
Summary: Gideon has to go to an orientation session for the coming school year. And he brings a friend. Short one-shot.


**Freshman Orientation**

 **(August 10, 2015)**

* * *

 _High school is the worst_ , someone once said. That was easy enough to believe on a hot, humid Monday night, with the school gym's central air-conditioning not working, industrial fans whirring, and the high-school gymnasium a gabble of noise as about 175 of the school's incoming freshman class of 213 crowded in, together with their perspiring families.

The PA suffered from screeching feedback that could have been used as a CIA torture device, the eleven teachers sitting in a row up on the stage were visibly sweating, and a hapless sparrow had somehow got into the building and fluttered frantically up near the ceiling, searching for a way out. Now and then it dropped reminders of its presence.

Gideon's father and mother sat near the front, on the uncomfortable folding chairs, and Ulva Lupei, looking terrified, sat between Bud and Gideon. She was fourteen—everyone guessed—thin, anxious-looking, with huge light-brown eyes, which looked golden in sunlight.

The AC failure at least prompted the principal to keep the proceedings moving along at a fast clip. She introduced the eleven teachers on the stage, explaining that they were the freshman home-room squad. "Now, if you'll look in your welcome packet," the principal said, holding up a blue folder, "You'll find a stapled list of names and home rooms. Your student needs to find his or her home room number, and then we'll let the students all go there while we give a little more information to you parents. We'll all fit in the library, where the AC is working, so as soon as the students are out, the parents will adjourn to there."

Gideon was in Mrs. Thatcher's home room. Ulva was in nobody's, but she would go along with Gideon. "You sure about this, son?" Bud asked quietly.

"Yeah, Daddy, people are gonna know, and I reckon honesty is the only policy. And Ulva doesn't mind, do you?"

She smiled at Gideon—she wasn't pretty, exactly, but striking and exotic, with those eyes and her sleek auburn hair, streaked with silver. People would look twice at her, wherever she went. "I don't mind," she said softly. Gideon took her hand, and she said to Bud and Corinne Gleeful, "I go. I don't mind."

"All right, darlin'," Bud, who had begun to look at Ulva almost as a daughter, said. "Don't you worry none, now. You just stick with Gideon, you hear?"

She nodded.

Gideon, who had changed quite a bit as he hit puberty, stood up when Mrs. Thatcher called for her students to go with her to room 222. Ulva, dressed in a pretty, loose flowery top and a modest pink skirt, and wearing soft moccasins, padded along with him. They attracted attention from other groups of students heading to other home rooms.

More than half of the students in the freshman class knew Gideon, and about half of the ones who knew him had mocked him and made fun of him before—but now that he had grown taller, had buffed up and lost weight, and had changed out his bouffant hairdo for a pony tail, the other three-quarters of the students looked on him with some degree of acceptance. Some of the girls even gave him rather provocative smiles.

Mrs. Thatcher, about fifty, had gray hair, thick spectacles, and a kind face. When they got to the home room, she had them sit in the desks, called the roll (four names were no-shows, about average for an orientation), and then looked puzzled. She asked Ulva's name.

After a glance at Gideon, Ulva told her, twice, because the first time she only whispered, "My name is Ulva Lupei."

Gideon helpfully spelled the last name, and Mrs. Thatcher nodded her thanks. To Ulva, she said, "I don't seem to have your name down, dear. Are you in the right place?"

"Ma'am?" Gideon said, standing up. "Allow me." He took Ulva's hand and had her stand up beside him, leading her to the front of the room. Everyone looked at them. "Fellow students," Gideon, an old hand at speaking to audiences, said, "I want to get this out to everybody, so y'all can spread the word, but make sure you tell 'em right. Y'all might not have got her name. This here is Ulva Lupei."

"Hello," Ulva whispered, not letting go of Gideon's hand.

Gideon squeezed her hand, smiling. "Okay, now Ulva is gonna be privately schooled for a while. Her mama got hurt in an accident, but she's healin' up, and soon as she's well, she's gonna be workin' for my daddy, Bud Gleeful. If y'all don't know him, your parents do, 'cause he sells used cars at a discount. OK, well, right now, Mrs. Lupei and Ulva are our house guests, but after a while, Daddy's gonna help 'em find a place of their own in town. Even though Ulva won't be goin' to our school right away, you're gonna be seein' her around, so I'm introducin' her. Here's the facts you need to know: She's a friend of mine. And she's a werewolf."

A few of the students laughed. Some asked, "A _werewolf_?"

"It's who she is," Gideon said more loudly. "Now, every full moon, she changes into wolf form. She can't help that, no more'n Andy over there can help his stuttering, or Velvet here in the front can help her near-sightedness. But she can control it. Heck, she's so good at control, that once she turns, if she tries real hard, she can become human again, even in the light of the full moon. Not many werewolves can pull that off!"

"I want staying human," Ulva murmured. "Not wolf."

"Really?" Mrs. Thatcher asked. "I mean, you're really a werewolf?"

"Really and truly, ma'am," Gideon said. "But in Gravity Falls, heck, we got Gnomes, we got Manotaurs, we got talkin' mice, we got giant bats and them big flying dinosaurs and all the other stuff nobody else anywhere has got. Anybody think they're peculiar? Think they're bad?"

Nobody did. A boy whom Gideon didn't know said, "Last fall a Gnome chased a puma away from my little brother! Nothing wrong with Gnomes!"

"Hey," a girl said, "a Manotaur kid was on my brother's baseball team one year. Great guy! Good ball player, too!"

Another girl added, "All those things make Gravity Falls special!"

"You got that right, Cindy," Gideon said. "They make our home town real special—and in addition to them, Gravity Falls has got werewolves now and again. And I'm here to tell you, there's no harm in werewolves!"

"I now should change?" Ulva asked timidly.

"Y'all want to see Ulva turn partway into a wolf?" Gideon asked. "Just to prove she can do it?"

"Yeah!" somebody yelled.

"She won't bite us?" a girl asked, sounding a little suspicious but not scared.

Ulva solemnly shook her head. "I never bite person."

"Miz Thatcher?" Gideon asked. "Is it OK if Ulva shows everybody, just so they'll all believe it?"

"Be my guest," Mrs. Thatcher said, smiling. "It's something I'd like to see."

"OK, Ulva," Gideon said. "Just partway, now. You remember how we practiced."

Ulva nodded. "I remember."

"Now, the moon ain't full—"

"Isn't," Mrs. Thatcher said.

Gideon grinned. "Thank you, ma'am. The moon isn't anywhere near full, fact it's a shrinkin' crescent, but Ulva is a lycan, so she can bring on her transformation at any old time she wants. OK, Ulva, just partway now."

Ulva lowered her chin and closed her eyes. Her ears grew sharp and pointed, her face narrowed, and her nose elongated into a rather elegant snout. She sprouted facial hair—the same shade as her head hair, auburn streaked with silver—and then opened her golden eyes. She gave them a kind of doggy smile and then looked adoringly at Gideon. She still stood on—well, on her _hind_ legs, now, and the students glimpsed the suspicion of a tail inside her skirt, and her hand had become a paw, but Gideon still held it as if it were a girl's hand. "That's beautiful, darlin'," he said softly.

"Whoa!" somebody said. "That is so _awesome_!"

They started to clap, but Gideon held up his hand. "Y'all, please, she's not performing. This is just who she is. It's OK to go back to human, Ulva."

She nodded, concentrated again, and became the thin little girl. "Thank you," she whispered to the class.

"This is fascinating," Mrs. Thatcher said. "But why won't she be in school?"

"Well, Miz Thatcher, she's got a long ways to go and a lot to make up."

"I cannot read," Ulva said. "Lived as wolf too long. No teachers in pack. Now I have to learn, to make up time. Like I speak not so good. But I am learning! I know A, B, C's now, can count to one hundred. Is a start!"

"She's gonna catch up," Gideon said, patting her hand. My daddy's found her a tutor, and Dr. Stanford Pines himself is gonna help out, too. But listen here: She and her mama are gonna live in Gravity Falls, and they're gonna need the town's understanding and support. Can I count on you to spread the word that they're gonna be our friends and neighbors?"

Not one kid said no. In fact, many of them murmured greetings and gave her smiles. Gideon and Ulva resumed their seats, the teacher said, "Thank you for that, Gideon," and then went right on with her instructions and advice, and before they left, she handed out Gravity Falls High tee shirts to everyone—including Ulva.

"Is mine?" she asked, surprised and smiling.

"You're one of us," Mrs. Thatcher said. "And when you're ready, you come to our school and you'll have lots of friends here."

Ulva beamed at them all. Then she held up the tee shirt against her chest and in a pep-rally voice said, "Go, fighting Beavers!"

Their cheers sounded almost as sweet as the howls of a friendly pack.

* * *

 _The End_


End file.
